My job was to help hand the cases down from the tiers, lifting them to small trucks upon which we rushed them to the hatch opening. A half day of this exertion found us pretty well blown, and when the noon whistle sounded over the harbor we got on deck, bolted our dinner and stretched out on anything that was handy and relaxed. Some of the boys slept, but I was too sore to sleep and had a feeling that it was better to stay awake, anyhow, as the rest would seem longer. When we turned to at one o'clock the gang on the wharf started to howl defiance at Nigger and his men, and the cruel ball began again with the mate, as king driver, egging along the performance. Being rid of the second mate and with the captain ashore, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The cases of oil were hard to grab hold of, and as I have said, got heavier and heavier as the weary day advanced. Cursing and sweating in hot 'tween deck, we strove like mad to keep up our end of the fight. "Don't let them niggers beat us," shouted Brenden, as he dug in with renewed energy, the sweat dripping into his eyes as he began slinging down the cases like a madman. "The dirty black bastards!" shouted Jimmy. "I hopes they croaks afore I sees the last o' this place." By the time the afternoon was half over my arms and back were numb with pain. I had ceased to sweat and every effort was made by super-force of will. We were red-eyed with the labor and the heat; swearing had ceased, and we plugged along doggedly as the damnable Nigger kept up his constant bawling to "_Hook her up!_" or "_Liki! Liki!_" (meaning "the same"). Frenchy, who was under the hatch, suddenly brought us to our senses. "_Rain, boys! Rain!_" he shouted. In our torture we had not noticed how dark it was getting, and when the first large cool drops pattered down on the 'tween deck hatches covering the cargo in the hold, we knew that relief was at hand. A minute more and the rain came down in tropical torrents while we struggled to get the big strongback into place, the hatch covers on, and the tarpaulin spread. Our black tormentors had fled to cover under a nearby shed, and the donkey engine crew were drawing the fire from beneath their boiler. Nigger, too, had disappeared, for Scouse came up determined to take a fall out of "that black ---- ----." To say that we were thankful for the rain is mild; we were saved by it, nothing less, and as we went to the fo'c'sle that night we were as badly beaten a lot of men as ever cumbered the port of Honolulu. "Say, Smith!" yelled Joe, shouting through the partition that separated the fo'c'sles. "Well, what do you want?" "You was right when you said sumthin' about me workin' here." "I told you you'd sweat, didn't I?" shouted back Old Smith. "Say, Smith," in a chastened tone. "Yes?" "Was you sweatin', too?" "Shut up! Shut up!" cried Jimmy in alarm. "If you wants to start a fight, do it tomorrow, an' let your betters get some rest." CHAPTER XV HAWAIIAN HOSPITALITY